


The Words Between

by utsushiame



Series: Cyril Week (2020) [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cyril Week (Fire Emblem), Developing Friendships, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Language of Flowers, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utsushiame/pseuds/utsushiame
Summary: Petunias could represent anger and resentment. However, there was a second meaning to the flowers, one that was contradictory to the first. And the colours that Cyril had chosen-gentleness, respect, trust- made his unspoken intentions quite clear.For Cyril Week: Day 1 - tiny flowers
Relationships: Cyril & Dedue Molinaro
Series: Cyril Week (2020) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978801
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27
Collections: Cyril Week 2020





	The Words Between

Sometimes a routine could not be observed until it was broken. Every morning, and occasionally in the late evening too, Dedue would make his way to the greenhouse to tend to the plants. When he found Cyril there, kneeling quietly by the flowers, he was quick to realise the oddity of his presence. Though their paths often crossed when Cyril sheared the hedge that framed the greenhouse, Dedue had never once seen him pass through the glass door.

Dedue didn't have a strong opinion on Cyril, even though he had come to realise that they were similar in many respects: Cyril was hard-working, received coldly by his peers, seemed to prefer his own company, and did not bloat his words with small talk. When he noticed that Dedue had entered, Cyril offered him only a nod before he returned his attention to the plants. He was not armed with the myriad of tools that Dedue had come to associate with the servant boy; no, if Dedue had to speculate, he had caught Cyril at a rare time where he wasn't working.

Far be it from him to interrupt a moment of relaxation. Dedue did not like to talk much anyway. He left Cyril to his own devices and started his work in the far corner of the greenhouse, attending first to the plants that required the most attention.

The sun ticked slowly across the sky as Dedue lost himself in his work, body and mind working as one to water the soil, prune errant leaves, and spread the compost. The heat grew more intense as the sun climbed higher, until Dedue took a break to remove his uniform jacket and quench his thirst. As he took his first sip of water, he glanced about the greenhouse and was surprised to find that Cyril was still there, sat opposite of where he had been before. He did not appear to have a beverage with him, and even from this distance Dedue could see the sheen of his sweaty skin. 

After a moment of hesitation, Dedue walked over to him.

"You shouldn't be in here for too long without water." Cyril flinched and spun to face Dedue, large eyes blinking rapidly out of the reverie he had fallen into. Dedue ignored his shock and held out his leather flask. "You should drink."

Cyril's eyes moved from Dedue to the flask, his throat bobbing as he swallowed and realised his own thirst. "Thanks." he said, taking the proffered water with both hands and drinking deeply from it. His fingertips were coated in a fine dusting of pollen. Dedue looked over at the plants that Cyril had presumably been touching, narrowing in on one with small white petals and spiky leaves.

"Did you touch that flower?" he asked.

Cyril pulled the flask away with a sigh of content. Then he looked to where Dedue was indicating and shook his head. "Nah, they give you a rash don't they?"

"They are bull nettles. The bristles contain an irritant that will badly sting bare skin."

"Yeah, that's what I got told by one of the other gardeners. I asked her about the greenhouse plants and she told me a whole lot about them."

Something about that struck Dedue as odd. Taciturn though he was, he saw no harm in indulging his curiosity now that they were already talking. "I've not seen you in the greenhouse before. Why were you asking about the plants?"

Cyril's eyes widened, as if surprised at the question. No- surprised to be asked at all. "Well, it ain't my job to look after the greenhouse. When I tried to work in here anyway I got told that it's for the students and I should only be cutting the hedges outside. But I like the flowers, so even if I can't work in here, I figured I can still look at them when I'm _not_ working."

"You like flowers?" Dedue had been left with the impression that Cyril was the practical sort. Not just from his own observations, but from a comment or two from Ashe and Mercedes.

"Some of them, yeah." Cyril shuffled to his feet and moved down the aisle, stopping at a bushful of tiny white buds. "I like these ones the most."

"Baby's breath." An odd choice for a personal favourite. Most who sought out the flower only did so to compliment an already grand bouquet. It was the sort of curiosity that could peak even Dedue's attention, despite his reluctance to otherwise engage with others.

Cyril didn't smile, but the hardness in his eyes softened. "Is that what they're called? You know a lot about plants, huh?" 

"I enjoy gardening." Dedue said, as it it weren't obvious. Then, after a long and somewhat awkward moment of silence, "What do you like about them?"

"I dunno... I like the way they look, I guess. They're pretty. And I like the feeling of holding onto a bunch of them at once." Cyril demonstrated, cupping a handful of the flowers in his hand. Delicate though the plant was, Cyril was careful with it, the cluster of white buds nestled gently on his calloused palm. An unconscious tenseness released itself from Dedue's shoulders.

They fell into silence again, but this time it was comfortable. The warmth of the heated glass and heady scent of pollen gave the air an almost dreamlike quality. Dedue always felt calmed when he gardened, but the time he took to breathe in the atmosphere of the greenhouse relaxed him even further. He understood now why Cyril had spent so long simply observing the flowers.

"Many decorate their homes with baby's breath when new life is brought into the world. Hence their name." He was careful as always about his choice of words, but that he'd expounded further when he could've otherwise remained quiet was something of a new experience for Dedue. No, not quite: it was an experience that had been long-forgotten until now. "They have taken on a meaning of innocence and purity."

Cyril looked up at him, his eyes sparkling with an interest that Dedue didn't believe he'd seen in them before. "Do all flowers have a meaning like that?"

"Many of them do." A few stalks down from the baby's breath was a posy of peonies. Dedue knelt down so he could caress one of the pink blooms with a gloved hand. "A peony is used to express romance or wealth. In Dagda, it represents the noble class."

"It means something different over there?"

"Yes."

Cyril moved next to him, squinting at the peony's ruffled petals. "That's weird. I get that different plants grow in different countries, but why would it have different meanings if it's the same flower?"

"Those meanings were given to it by different cultures." Dedue wondered then about Cyril's experience as an Almyran. He knew next to nothing of where Cyril was born, how he had lived, or how he felt about his homeland. Dedue's culture had been torn from him, along with everything else in his life: perhaps that was why he found himself wishing that Cyril could take pride in being Almyran. He knew how difficult and painful a task it could be when one was surrounded by hatred.

While Dedue's thoughts had taken a solemn turn, Cyril remained focused on the bouquets laid out before them. "What about these?" he asked, running his fingers up the side of a heather stem.

"Heather is one of the few flowers that grow in the harsh lands of Faerghus. They are independent." Dedue thought for a long moment and then moved to the spot where he had been working. He returned to Cyril's side with clippers in hand. The young boy watched him curiously as he snipped at a heather stem, this one bearing hundreds of tiny white flowers that resembled the baby's breath.

He held the flower out to Cyril, who took it with some hesitation. "His Highness told me a Faerghan legend about white heather. They are said to bring good fortune."

Now caught on to Dedue's intent, Cyril flushed. "You're... giving this to me? Is that okay?"

Dedue nodded silently. He hoped the heather could speak the sentiment that he could not manage with his words or his expressions. He did not know why he was so fervent about making himself understood to Cyril- not until the boy smiled, a small curve of the lips that nevertheless radiated joy, much like a girl that Dedue had once known. The sudden memory of his sister was excruciating and warm in equal measure. 

"Thanks!" Lacking for a proper container, Cyril tucked the heather's stem into the knot of his belt. The snowy petals were even more striking against the pale brown of his shirt. "Could ya tell me more about the other flowers? Ah, if it ain't any trouble..."

With another nod, Dedue continued his explanations without further fuss. Cyril was an earnest listener, nodding along to the facts he was given but not pushing for more when Dedue fell silent. It was strange: Dedue didn't like to talk, but he did not feel discomfort when it was information he wanted to give. Whenever people spoke to him- _actually_ spoke to him, as a person and not as a lesser- it was oft so they could learn of Duscur. It was also oft that Dedue felt the information was being pried out of him, rather than something he wished to talk about freely. The distinction, he was now realising, was an important one.

Ruminating over this realisation, Dedue didn't notice immediately when Cyril's attention remained on a flower he had already explained. "Hey, is it alright if I cut a couple of these ones?"

The garden wouldn't miss a few petunias. "It is no problem."

Cyril took the clippers from him and then took to the stems, his technique as practised as many of the adults who helped tend to the gardens. Dedue was not a teacher, but even he could see the potential that lay within Cyril- both his willingness to learn and the speed at which he achieved it. It was a shame that he wasn't taught alongside the rest of the students. Dedue did not know the reason for it, but he couldn't imagine that it was a good one.

When Cyril got back to his feet he had three petunias in hand- pink, blue, and yellow. Perhaps Dedue should've seen it coming, but nevertheless he was surprised when the flowers were offered to him. "It's only fair, right?" Cyril said, his expression simple but warm.

Petunias could represent anger and resentment. However, there was a second meaning to the flowers, one that was contradictory to the first. And the colours that Cyril had chosen- _gentleness, respect, trust_ \- made his unspoken intentions quite clear: he wished to express that second meaning, _"being with you is soothing"._

Dedue had been all but trained to believe the opposite- that his presence was one that invited fear. And yet, when presented with a sentiment that he should've thought a lie, Dedue instead felt warmth pool in his chest.

He took the flowers with a quiet "Thank you," his lips almost forming into a smile. Their colours were vibrant and their scent was fresh. Though he spent every day tending to the greenhouse's flowers, it was only these ones that had ever evoked such feelings of tenderness within him. "I would like to put these in water. If you will excuse me."

"Oh, yeah, of course." Cyril bobbed his head. "Actually, I should be going too. It's about time I get back to work."

There were no more words exchanged after that- no 'goodbye for now' or 'have a good afternoon'. Neither of them felt the need for it. And yet, as Dedue made his way back to the dorm, colourful petunias in hand, he found himself almost looking forward to the next time that he and Cyril would meet.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic for months, it's getting close to midnight, and i took a crash course in flower language but NONE OF THAT MATTERS. ONLY CYRIL MATTERS


End file.
